


Thank You, Al Gore

by inplayruns



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inplayruns/pseuds/inplayruns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt that was more or less save-the-internet sex. Takes place after 4.18, "The Monster at the End of This Book," and deviates pretty drastically from canon at that point. This was supposed to be pretty much just porn, but oops! feels!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank You, Al Gore

It says something about Dean’s life these days that he comes back to Castiel poking at the screen of Sam’s laptop, brow furrowed, and he doesn’t even blink, he just swats the angel’s hand away and grunts out, “Hey, hey, that’s not mine, don’t break it.”

Cas screws his eyes on Dean with one of those _looks_ , and Dean maybe feels his stomach slosh around, but that could just be the burger he ate. The diner looked a little dubious.

“I suppose that look was more effective when I was surrounded by my brothers at Sodom and Gomorrah and raining fire down upon its inhabitants,” Castiel remarks. “Not so much when my weapon is – this thing –” And he starts jabbing his finger at the screen again. Dean has to reach over and tug Cas’ wrist away. Touching his skin, as it turns out, is like pushing his palm against a stereo’s speaker; there’s a pleasant buzz right there, pulsing hard enough that Dean swears the bones in his own wrist go all rubbery.

Dean pulls a chair over to squint at the screen along with Cas. “So I’m guessing you’re not here because of YouPorn,” he offers. The angel swivels his head, and Dean really needs to not have his stomach pretend it’s some sort of Olympic pro diver every time Cas looks at him like that; Cas’ dad knows he does it enough. (Oh, Jesus, did he really just think that? And he’s gonna need to find some exclamations that don’t involve religion.) “The _Harry Potter_ trailer? If you’re gonna jerk off to that like Sam does you can leave. Nerds.”

“Dean, I know you have every _Star Trek_ , _Star Wars_ , and Clint Eastwood movie memorized,” Cas sighs, turning back to the screen. “No, I’m here for something different.”

“Uh, okay,” Dean offers as his brilliant comeback. _But lightsabers are cool!_ , his brain whines at him. “What?”

Castiel nods. Seeing him like this, his coat all messily hitched up around his thighs on the chair and frowning over the Windows start screen, is – it’s bizarre. Like Cas got dragged down to humanity because of him, and it’s wrong when he’s got that inhuman reek like a pine forest before the first snow of the season. (It’s not like Dean has ever been in that sort of scenario. But without fail, his brain always floats that forward when Cas shows up. He can imagine ice crystals knotting together to take the shape of enormous wings – and he should stop thinking like that, because it’s only distracting.)

“First, excellent job with Lilith.” The teeth in the back of Dean’s mouth grind together, already awaiting the bite of sarcasm – another way too human thing Cas is starting to pick up – but there’s nothing. Huh. He must’ve meant it. “I believe the power of the archangel banished her to one of the nastier sections of Hell. The demons under her command on earth are… scrambling, a bit. Especially considering Alastair is gone too.”

Dean ducks his head when Cas fixes him with another one of those stares. Like Cas just looking at him wasn’t enough to make his stomach drop out a little. Fucking otherworldly shine right behind those goddamn (bad choice of words) huge blue eyes with the dusky lashes. _Dusky lashes_? What the fuck, did he read Chuck’s flowery descriptions of him and Sam’s _bulging biceps_ one too many times? And if he hears fucking _jade_ again – Chuck really liked talking about Dean’s eyes, apparently, but that’s not even accurate – he’s gonna lose it. (He’d exaggeratedly gagged when Chuck had written about Cas popping in to inform him on the state of several seals, and the page was full of _azure pools_ and _cerulean orbs_.)

Well. More than he already has.

Cas continues, eyes back to the computer screen. “They are attempting to break seals, but without Lilith’s guidance and especially her power, they’re rather lost. They believe…” His head tilts, as if trying to sort the language of Heaven into tidy little bins so Dean’s dumb human brain can understand it. “One of the seals is – well, most succinctly – convincing others Apocrypha are the true words of a prophet. We believe it’s one of the few the remaining demons have a lead on.”

“Okay,” Dean mutters, and feels dumb. “Prophet, like – like Chuck?”

“Precisely.” Internally, he wants to reach a hand around to pat his own back. He impressed the angel, okay? From Heaven? He’s allowed. “The demons were – originally, this would have been one of the more difficult seals to break. Communication was much harder when all this was written. But now…” Carefully, he pushes the computer over to Dean. “Radio and television and especially the internet have made it far easier to spread news. And prophecies, true and false. Can you – I believe there are locations on the internet where Carver Edlund’s works are discussed. I need to find them.”

Dean is pretty sure an angel of the Lord, with wings, who he’s seen done the whole smiting thing, just asked him to check out Google. “Okay…” But he types swiftly, the links he finds still in purple text. He wasn’t looking at them all that long ago. “I actually, uh, looked at these. They’re mostly just bitching about the plot. Oh, and all these sick fantasies about Sam and I, or something –”

“That’s precisely it,” Cas interrupts, and the fucker sounds _excited_ over the idea of the whole _Sam-slash-Dean-together-together_ thing. “Well, maybe not precisely, but –” Dean looks, and Cas’ tongue rolls along the outside of his lips. “As you know, Chuck’s last published book ended with you going to Hell, though his visions didn’t end. He continued writing.”

“Yeah, I know pretty fuckin’ well, Cas,” Dean grunts. He ate tofu and got pink flowery bandaids plastered all over his face and half-scrubbed his brains out reading the description of his brother in the midst of _fiery demonic passion_ with Lucifer’s number two because of it, thanks.

Cas gives him one of those looks that wavers between confusion and anger, like he doesn’t understand either emotion and is attempting to express both at once. Well. No “like” there, actually. “The demons managed to take some of Chuck’s unpublished works. I believe they are using us in… certain ways.”

Dean probably doesn’t want to know. He clicks over to the forum anyway. _SERIES FOUR SPOILERS!!!! MEGA SPOILERS!!!!_ bleats some link in fucking neon green text. Dean clicks on that, too, because at this point why not, and Cas’ eyes go wide, and sharp.

“This is the work of Hecate,” he remarks, that Sodom-and-Gomorrah glare fastened onto some post that, even just in text, practically screams about whatever the fuck retconning is. It is, apparently, _such BULLCRAP!_ Dean figures that, yeah, well, lady, you never had to stop the demon takeover of the internet.

“Queen of the witches, right,” Dean asks, as he moves down on the page. He’s pretty sure he catches a username called _samndean4evr_ and _really_ , now. Next to him, Cas nods, and Dean half-smirks, because he’s not doing as badly as usual with him today. “Bet she’s a huge fucking bitch.”

Cas needs to stop pursing his lips, tracing them with his tongue, everything involving his mouth. Sometimes he’ll catch the lower lip between his teeth, and Dean will just stare at the contrast between the white and the pink, thinking about nothing but that. Stupid angel mojo, he figures. “In the American English vernacular,” he concludes, “I believe yes, that’s a good way to phrase it.”

Something’s different here, but Dean isn’t complaining. He remembers waking up in a hospital bed to a rasped _are you alright_ and that hard line across Cas’ brow just – gone. Yeah, Dean had still been a snarky dick when Cas warned him to be more careful, but there was no nastiness behind it. He was too broken for that, and Cas was there.

And then Cas showed up outside that crappy little motel and maybe the angel had been taking humanity lessons from him – and that’s as disturbing as his thoughts of Hell before he actually went there or the time he came fucking hard with Ruby’s original vessel looming in his brain and kissing down his stomach there, or this, uh, Wincest shit, that something used him as the humanity cheat sheet – because he was regretful when he couldn’t help, angry but not fucking _wrathful_ when Dean threw his stupid asshole comments about his father in his face, and kind of… wry when he did help. Smirking, almost smiling. Dean didn’t know what had happened, and he really hopes the guy isn’t getting ass-reamed in Heaven by guys like Uriel or Zachariah (which, _gross_ ), but he’s thankful.

Christ. He’s pretty sure the chicks on the Carver Edlund forum are gonna be real disappointed when his dick falls off in the fourth series.

Dean shakes his head, chuckles, and reads on. “There,” Cas exclaims, and presses so hard against the screen that it goes all funny rainbow warped for a couple of seconds. Turns out the bitch is actually going by the name Hecate. “She probably finds it amusing, to taunt them so bluntly.” A pause. “I cannot say I understand demons’ sense of humor.”

“Doubt you want to,” Dean grumbles, and starts reading.

 _Hey ladies!!_ the post reads. _OMG thank you so much for everything. The Paypal donations were super generous. I promise I’ll have your copies out ASAP!!!_

“She does not plan to distribute copies,” Cas informs, nodding sagely. He reports everything in more or less the same tone, still, from something as mundane and obvious as that to him telling Dean he’d been pulled out of Hell because _God_ commanded it.

 _Anyways it’s been a little while so I decided to spoil some more. Sooo, of course we all just love Sam and Dean together except for those freaks who liked Sam with Jess only, or Dean with Jo, ugh._ Jo? He hasn’t seen Jo since – maybe she doesn’t even know he got out of Hell, and wow, that makes him feel like a piece of shit. _Gross! jk, I still love you guys!! Well, Carver’s a genius, bc Dean’s totally gay –_

“I fucking hate witches,” Dean snarls.

_For the angel!_

He honestly has to fight the urge to slam the top of the laptop down, and run screaming from the room. “Cas, what the fuck,” he rasps out, even as he’s pretty sure he understands.

“This is the Apocrypha,” Cas notes. Dean totally doesn’t notice the very precise way he’s holding himself up in the chair, or think about if the knobs of his spine would poke out a little against his back. “There are some true elements in what Hecate tells the other members of this forum – the angels, for example – but she’s changed much of what happens. She has the forum believing your brother takes over a demon army, and it is –” Cas peers at the screen. “ _Badass_. And now she is offering up selections of, um.” The angel said _um_. “Her own… erotic material.”

“Yeah, about me and you getting it on!”

“She more than likely finds it rather hysterical,” Cas huffs out. “The point is, Hecate is well on her way toward perverting the minds of Edlund’s fans –”

“I think they’re already pretty fuckin’ perverted, Cas –”

“–to believing false gospel. There are some holdouts, but Dean, soon they will begin to believe Hecate’s words, and not Chuck’s. When that happens, one more seal will fall.” His palm presses against the laptop. “We must save this – internet.”

Dean blinks at him dazedly for a couple of seconds. “Okay,” he gets out, eventually. “So how do you save the internet?” _Please don’t take my porn away_ , he doesn’t add out loud, _or the Dr. Sexy torrents_.

Cas narrows his eyes, and tilts his head to the side, as he stares at the screen. Dean knows it’s serious, the seals popping open one after the other, but he’s so intense over a bunch of fangirl shrieking, it’s actually hilarious. Now he’s the one biting his lip shut, stopping his mouth from tipping up at the corners. “I have been led to believe the internet itself is too far gone to save,” Cas muses. “Judging from your browser history alone, it may be. But we can stop the breaking of these seals, by –” Cas glances down at his lap. “It requires your assistance. And it may be – unappealing to you.”

The tension in Dean’s still-achy shoulders ratchets up a bit. “Tell me, Cas,” he gets out, eventually. After being told he started the apocalypse and ending up in a hospital, and then manhandling a friggin’ prophet of the Lord to summon the most powerful angels in Heaven, he’s kinda used to everything by now.

Cas nods, almost grimly. “Hecate is spreading Apocrypha as true prophecy. I have…” He squints at the computer screen, and Dean could swear his cheeks blanch. “Perused parts of it. But there’s one flaw to her plan, and a way to save the seal. If the things Hecate has declared Apocrypha come true, then they are, quite obviously, no longer Apocrypha.”

“Uh, okay.” He’s a little lost, but his thoughts always go kinda dizzy whenever Cas is around. It’s the whip-like crackle of electricity he shoots through the air. And sure, it was different, but the sensation wasn’t exactly appreciated when it came from _Zachariah_. Friggin’ angels.

“The things involving Sam – obviously they can’t be fulfilled, unless we want to turn your brother to the forces of evil.” He pauses, and pouts. It’s funny how exaggerated it is, and the inside of his lower lip is shiny. “Rather clever of her, honestly. But the other parts are…”

A sudden understanding clangs into Dean like the rattling sheet metal roofing of a barn. _Maybe it’s just the wind_. Maybe this is just a misunderstanding. “Like the stuff about – us getting it on?!”

The angel’s eyes stay on the computer. “If I understand that phrase correctly, yes.” Funny things keep going on around Cas’ mouth, like he can’t decide how to set it. His eyes flicker from the screen, down to his lap, and finally to Dean. “I know I’ve asked too much, Dean. Especially of late. I – I still feel regret over the situation with Alastair.” Cas’ long fingers set themselves over Dean’s still-twinging shoulder, and the ache fades.

“It’s okay, man.” Dean honestly doesn’t mind this at all, Cas’ hand and eyes on him alike. And wait, what? No. He’s been in a weird mood lately. Going through all that shit with oh, finding out he started the Apocalypse, and getting stuffed into a suit and _suspenders_ for a week, eating nothing but _salad_ – no one would blame him for going crazy at this point.

“We would have to – make the Apocrypha truth.” Splotches of red dapple across Cas’ cheekbones, and Dean wonders what he’d feel like if he pressed his palm to his face. He bets his skin would be hot, flushed far deeper than just the surface. The pulse in Dean’s wrist would pick up, able to sense the presence of something far more powerful than a human inside Cas’ vessel.

Dean’s not Sam, doesn’t spend his spare time rubbing his nose into books. But he’s been dealing with this shit as long as he can remember, and he’s not stupid, thanks. (That was a big part of why he resented Cas so much at first; those gigantic eyes landed on him, and Dean just knew he could spend his whole damn life tucked in a library and not understand half the shit he did. Cas probably thinks in string theory in five million different languages, most of them not even from this planet.) “Apocrypha is like, false prophecy, right?”

“Precisely. Hence why it must come true.” Cas nudges the laptop over a bit, and Dean tries to read off the screen. The bitch uses Comic Sans, which probably should’ve tipped everyone else on the boards off that she’s fucking evil. Dean only lasts a couple of glances, though, because he sees words like _Dean_ and _Castiel_ and _heaving chests_ and, Jesus Christ, she actually used _weeping cock_. (Actually, Dean’s pretty sure Chuck himself used that phrase. A couple of times. And _member_. Yeah, he’s gonna have to speak to someone if this shit is gonna be in the fucking _Gospels_ someday.)

Dean wrenches his eyes away from the laptop. His mouth’s popped open, half shock, half horror. “So we gotta act out some demon’s pervy-ass fanfiction? But people have been writing – this same repulsive shit about Sam and I for _years_ , apparently!” There had definitely been a big, bold FANFIC RECS post on the board, and yeah he wasn’t clicking that.

Cas’ tongue flicks out for a minute. His eyes roll up to the ceiling, but Dean can’t stop staring at the wet pinkness of his tongue. He wonders if angel spit tastes different. “That was different,” he informs. “They were – they may have been trying to convince others of their point of view, but it was not malicious.” Dean isn’t sure, because he tried to pick up this girl at a bar once – three days after Dad went missing and plunged them into this whole thing, actually, and it was right before Dean started to worry – but she just sobbed about LiveJournal the whole time, bleating about how no one on there understood her any more. “Their writing’s based on works already published, and they do not have the demonic powers of Hecate to break the seal once they get enough believers in their work.”

“Huh.” That’s intelligent of him. He tries flicking his eyes here and there, but they keep landing on the screen. And, excuse him, Hecate thinks Cas’ tongue is gonna go _where_? No thanks, he’d much rather have it – absolutely nowhere, right. “So you can’t… just… smite her, or something? Stop her from posting?”

“No,” Cas responds, and Dean could swear he’s almost amused. He sneaks a peek, because he’s totally not _looking_ looking at Cas, and he’s got that little smile tipping up the corner of his lips. The look fades too quickly, though, tight grimness settling over him again. “She’s likely the most powerful demonic force stationed on Earth, now that Lilith is missing and Alastair’s gone.”

“Of fucking course,” Dean snarls, and slams his fist down on the table. He doesn’t mean it to be hard, but Cas jumps. “I’m just –” He scrubs a hand over his face. It works to block out Cas, still sitting all stiff in front of him. God, but he wishes he’d loosen up a little. Maybe he’d be able to have an actual conversation with the – guy? – if he didn’t always have his shoulders set like that, or if he reacted beyond furrowing his brow just enough to shoot a harsh line between his eyes. “How do we solve this. Spell it out.”

“We must have sex,” and Dean’s super glad he’s not drinking anything because it would’ve ended up all over Sam’s laptop and he would’ve cried for _years_ because Dean ruined it. Okay, so maybe Cas was dancing around that point, but he didn’t really expect –

Dean’s hand is clamped to his forehead, now. “Aren’t your – don’t your bosses already think you like me too much?” That’s not the first question he should be asking.

Something bright flashes behind Castiel’s eyes. “It’s to stop the breaking of a seal. I believe they will excuse it.” At Cas’ massive sigh, ragged and just frankly _weird_ , like he has no idea how to sigh properly – probably doesn’t – Dean actually jumps. “I’m already in a great deal of trouble in Heaven, Dean. I believe I haven’t been severely punished yet because…” Cas needs to stop doing funny things with his lips. “Many are rather impressed by the fact that it was me who pulled you out of Hell. At least this act would accomplish something.”

There are a lot of reasons why he shouldn’t. Cas owns some actual person’s body, first, but that seems like a flimsy excuse when the first thing Dean ever did to the guy was shoot him, then stab him right through the heart. His human host probably isn’t even alive any more. And Dean’s not gay. That’s not macho bullshit, and he _knows_ macho bullshit; he’s really not. Until, well, Hell, he’d been to every kind of bar ever, and he happened to have chick’s lips and eyelashes to go along with his stupid fucking swagger, so it’s not like the opportunity hasn’t come up, but no. Nothing ever happened there.

But Cas isn’t really a guy. He’s some holy ball of heavenly light currently nesting in a guy’s body. (It’s not weird at all to think of having sex with that.) And maybe Dean’s been looking for chicks with messy dark hair and blue eyes – but never big or blue enough, lacking the knife-sharp flash behind the irises – lately, even if he hasn’t noticed it until now. Maybe he off-handedly Googled wings a couple of times, which he’s pretty sure makes him a full-on creeper.

Most importantly – and seriously, there’s a possibility that Chuck’s somewhere wincing over his protagonist’s gigantic vagina even as he types this shit into Word – Cas knows him, and hasn’t ditched him yet despite the fact that Dean’s mostly been an ass who’s made way too many pop culture references that only make Cas tilt his head and frown. He knows him on Earth, and more importantly he knew him in _Hell_. The very first time he met Dean in that barn, he more or less called him out on his bullshit, even if he didn’t know it.

“It’ll save the seal?” he hears himself ask. Doesn’t even cringe after.

Cas nods, firmly.

Dean’s pretty fucking sure when he broke into Sam’s cramped little apartment in California and made some pretty lecherous comments about Jessica’s boobs, he never thought he’d get to kill the thing that pinned his mother to the ceiling and burned her, or go to Hell, or get pulled out of there by an angel who he’d be fucking – or maybe getting fucked by, which makes his insides squirm, and not entirely unpleasantly – within a year. Life turns out awful strange when you’re a Winchester.

“You’re not gonna, like – Sodom and Gomorrah me, right?”

The glare Castiel gives him makes Dean think maybe he is. But no, it’s only a glare. “I know I told you to read the Bible, Dean,” he sighs, and Cas sounds weary. Kinda funny to think about wearing out an angel. Funnier to think about other ways he might do that. “But it has been distorted greatly through the years. Five hundred years from the time the Winchester Gospels will be published, you would likely find some details in it rather amusing. Actually, we were told to destroy the city by Anna. They were rather rude to her.”

Dean tries to picture the hot redhead with the dewy eyes ordering the wrath of God onto some giant pansexual orgy, especially considering the way she’d sunk down onto him and tossed her head back, and – nope.

So Dean just nods, steeling himself more than anything, and kisses Cas. He didn’t know what it was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t just a tight little press of lips to lips. They’re still sitting in separate chairs, and this doesn’t feel any closer than the constant friggin’ staring. Dean didn’t expect his first thought to be, _What, your vessel didn’t like Chapstick too much?_

Then Cas opens his mouth and oh. _Oh_.

Dean’s read his share of shitty romance novels – oh, shut the fuck up, there wasn’t anything else that was cheap at some of the gas station magazine stands in places too prudish to have actual porn, and he burned them all afterward – enough to actually appreciate that Chuck actually didn’t go overboard with the descriptions of kisses. The ripped dudes always tasted like _chocolate essence_ and eye-rolly shit like that.

But Cas? It’s gotta be the angel thing, because his tongue slides against Dean’s and it turns out angel spit _does_ taste different. He’s breathing in cinnamon-honey heat, rolling through Dean like a really good cigar. Dean doesn’t so much groan into his mouth as much as yowl ungracefully, so he’s pretty glad he’s kissing Cas hard; the angel just swallows the noise up.

One of them moves the chairs until their knees bump, and of course that’s when Dean makes a stupid noise out loud because Cas’ mouth moved away. He doesn’t know whether he took Cas’ coat off or the angel shrugged out of it himself, but it’s messily piled up on the chair along with the suit jacket. Castiel blinks up at him, and Dean sees the rise and fall of his chest under his shirt and really, really wishes he was closer to that.

“So, uh,” and Dean wishes he was way smoother. He realizes they should probably hurry this up for the sake of the seal, honestly, but hey, the tax accountant wasn’t a bad-looking guy. It’s all Dean can do to stroke fingers along his jaw, smirk at the fact that Cas’ lips have gone from stiff-looking and chapped to slick and fuller than normal, and tilt it up. Just seeing the easy curve of the bottom of his chin, slipping into his jaw and the long, smooth neck, makes Dean do this weird whole-body twitch. He brushes it off by mouthing right above his Adam’s apple, and he waits until Cas’ shivers are obvious under his fingertips before he sucks part of the skin between his teeth.

Castiel’s choked-off moan makes Dean’s teeth buzz against his throat and he can’t grin right now, but he totally would if he could. He pulls back, and there’s a tiny little red spot, blotchy and fading even as he looks at it for a couple of seconds, but he left a mark. Dean Winchester made an angel moan and everyone had all their clothes on, thank you very much.

Speaking of that, he should probably get a move on. Not like this isn’t enjoyable, but he looks down and the little dip that’s part collarbone, part throat already – uh, he wasn’t expecting to get _interested_ so easily. Maybe it’s the kissing, because that kiss was pretty fucking great. Maybe it’s the fact that Cas’ chest right there could pass for a really flat girl’s, before he really takes his shirt off, and his hands aren’t anywhere with muscles in places he’s not used to. Or maybe it’s just Castiel, and the fact that the air crackles, electric, when he’s around.

Dean pops a button on Cas’ shirt, easily slips the tie out from around his collar, and digs hands into Cas’ already-messy hair as his mouth, rounded out, lands right in the hollow of his throat. He licks over the dip and hopes Cas tastes the same everywhere, like nothing and an ice storm and his mom’s apple-cinnamon cookies at once. No, it really shouldn’t make sense, and the teeny part of his brain that’s still coherent should be whining at him, but again: angel. Castiel.

After a few minutes of busying his hands in Cas’ hair, he pulls back to look at him. He’s a half-wild thing now, reminding Dean of when he met him in the barn and he would’ve known _not human_ even if the guy hadn’t rattled the ground with his power. Wide eyes, the stare, the messiness of his coat and his tie not done properly and his hair poofed up. But he was so put together then, and his breathing is coming hard now, and Dean can’t help but kiss him again as his hands slide down, feeling over his shoulders and pausing at his collarbones, before he fits his fingers around the buttons on Cas’ borrowed white shirt, and starts easing them out of their holes.

Until now, Cas was pretty passive. Well, maybe that’s the wrong word for it; he wasn’t sitting stiff-backed in his chair just taking everything like Dean had kinda feared, but he wasn’t directing traffic, so to speak. But Dean undoes a couple of buttons and it’s like Cas remembers he’s the angel of the Lord here, and with a rumbly growl Dean’s ass is pretty firmly on the table, Cas’ legs around his knees.

He’s pretty sure he just got manhandled. He’s pretty sure he _liked_ it.

Cautiously, Cas moves his palm to the center of Dean’s back, and Dean can’t help but think he’s searching for his wings. “Okay, whoah,” Dean chuckles. “Unless you’re trying to Clarence me up, nothin’ there.” But he shrugs out of his jacket – it had been cold, but his hairline’s starting to get itchy with latent sweat – and overshirt, letting them crumple to the ground. The heat from Castiel’s palm moves through his body more easily now, like the relief that spreads out through his sinuses after a sneeze, and he has to fight from arching back into it like he went wild too.

“We should consider ourselves lucky,” Cas murmurs, and okay, his voice sounds even deeper and better now. “Hecate does not have the – imagination of some of the writers on that board.” Little bit freaky to imagine some fangirls are crazier than some evil witch-demon. “I read a story where Victor Henricksen used his handcuffs and nightstick in ways that one might call imaginative –”

“Cas, oh my –” He bites the _God_ off, at least. Smooth. “You don’t need to tell me any more.” He cups a hand around the back of Cas’ neck, and kisses him until his dick gets over the idea of the guy who’d been after his ass – oh God, not like _that_ – until like thirty seconds before his death, chaining him up and shoving big black sticks places where they were not supposed to go. “Isn’t that better?”

“Yes, your actions are far better than spottily-written fanwork,” Cas agrees, and fuck, his fingers are suddenly sneaking up under Dean’s shirt, just to press down on the skin above his waistband. “Even mine are, I believe.”

Dean is pretty sure Cas was trying to be funny there, if only because of the little smile tipping up one corner of his face. It’s not a bad look on him, if only because it reminds him of the time he showed up on that bench in the playground and Dean finally stopped thinking of him as this massive dick – though hey, that original assessment wasn’t that far off, and _wow_ that thought is about eighty kinds of inappropriate – and a soulless ass who would toss him back to the Pit, and as just another close-enough-to-a-person trying to sort through his own shit.

Just for that, Dean manages to push out a chuckle, and drags him close enough to start unbuttoning his shirt again. He kinda loves shrugging the shirt off his shoulders, and then watching him pull the undershirt off himself; Cas’ movements are jerky and awkward, like a bird pecking at seeds on the ground, clearly unused to taking his clothes off. But eventually, he’s there, all sharp hipbones arcing smoothly into his pants and his collarbone standing out starkly and the rise and fall of his ribs. Dean counts them with his fingers, undemanding.

Cas, of course, just grabs the back of Dean’s shirt and tries to rip it off by the hemline in the back. It doesn’t work too well, but Dean hunches over and winds their fingers together and uses that to hitch his shirt up and off. Cas’ eyes go right to the blotchy handprint, still on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean’s hand presses over Cas, and their palms come together, pushing down onto the handprint. Dean bites back a groan, and his pants aren’t even off. It had been pretty damn good when Anna slid her fingers over it, or even just with the cotton of his t-shirt brushing against it, but his vision hazes over for a few seconds when Cas touches it. “It’s awesome, Cas. Totally badass.” (Jamie had kept staring at it, too, and Dean hadn’t explained. Kept up the whole mysterious stranger thing. Well, the one that wasn’t trying to kidnap her to be his undying bride, or whatever.)

“That is good, right?”

Dean tries not to laugh. It would probably come off as impossibly rude, and for once he actually cares. “Yeah.” Honestly, he feels stupidly wanton and slutty when he grabs Cas by the hips to pull him closer, and it’s more fucking torture when their bodies touch from groin to groin. The situation gets worse – or okay, better – when Cas slides a hand down, tentative, and brushes his fingers over the bulge in his jeans.

Cas drifts his hands back and forth, leaving what must be a thousand fingerprints over his hips and belly and the inside of his thighs, and yes, where Dean gets harder with every sweeping touch. It’s too light, too teasing. He wants him all sex-crazed, the angel’s palm slick with both their spit and the wetness off the head of his dick as he jerked him. Or, fuck, his mouth would be even better, stretched, with those _eyes_ looking at him –

“I have no practical experience in this,” Cas admits. And damn, no wonder the guy was such a tight-ass when Dean met him; it’s gotta suck to be around for millennia with no sex. If Dean goes two months he’s cranky and constantly on the edge.

“That’s okay.” Dean likes chicks with experience, normally, but this is a few thousand miles away from normal anyway. Again, he puts his own palm down on top of Castiel’s hand, and drags it over his clothed erection, rubbing that hand over it once, twice.

Cas’ fingers catch on the buttons of Dean’s pants, measuring them out like Dean counted his vessel’s ribs. When Cas starts undoing them, he’s – it’s not quite shaking, not like the shyer girls Dean’s been with. Then Dean realizes somehow, maybe from the way he holds his wrists, that Castiel is _holding himself back_. He could tear Dean apart more easily than he put him back together.

That fact makes Dean reach forward and pull Cas’ lips against his, hotter and kind of sloppy this time. He feels Cas’ tongue lick against the corner of his mouth, the roof, and push against his teeth. “You are very distracting,” Cas grunts, pulling away eventually, but he’s offering that sorta-smile.

Cas doesn’t kiss down Dean’s stomach. He just drags his fingers, letting them roll over his belly, and there’s no real sense of purpose to it. Maybe Cas is only feeling him out, because this other body is so different from his own. Cas’ vessel – well, he never denied it when Dean sniped that he was a tax accountant. He was a skinny guy, where Dean was all rounded-out muscle. But still, tax accountants didn’t have wings and wild sex hair and pop in to public bathrooms when you were using the urinal to stare piercingly at you until you noticed. (Dean and Cas had a little chat about personal space after that. For Dean’s own benefit.)

Then Cas’ tongue follows, and even though it’s just one long, wet line, bracketed by his dry lips, Dean still grunts at it. Little goosebumps still pop up along his skin. “Goddamn,” he sighs out, before he’s even aware, and he gets a smack on the side of his hip that kind of brings him out of it until Cas crosses his tongue over the soft divide between his abs. He breathes out, and the heat is damp and so, so close to his dick.

Which he wants, yeah. He’d do it to save the world because he’d done a lot worse than have an orgasm just to save _himself_. But as much as he might protest, loudly, he wants Cas jacking him evenly with a wicked twist at the end, how Dean likes it, because Cas knows. He wants to rut himself against Cas’ hot skin and hotter groin. And he’s kinda freaked out by the whole idea of _sex_ -sex with another dude, because he doesn’t want to be wincing like a little bitch whenever he has to sit (and he definitely doesn’t want Bobby’s glances or Sam’s smirks in response, because that’s gross), but, well, he’s always been pretty damn good at adapting.

“Cas,” he moans, in a voice he rarely ever hears from himself.

That’s when Cas swoops his eyes up to look right into Dean’s as his mouth opens right along the side of Dean’s cock, tongue sliding back and forth. Fuck, it’s a _flick_ with the tip of his tongue; if this was anyone else Dean’s knee would probably jerk up hard and – and, some instinctual biting down would probably be involved. It really says something about Castiel that Dean’s thinking of biting near his junk and he’s not only still hard, but shamelessly pushing his hips forward so Cas’ tongue can _rub_. Cas isn’t even tracing a vein, or playing at the more sensitive head. He’s just caught between licking and kissing his dick, sweet and worshipful at the same time it’s hot and sloppy.

Dean gets an idea, because even with his cock half-inside a hotass angel’s mouth, he’s kind of a genius. “Do you have to breathe?” he asks, though it’s really more like a gasp.

“No.” Cas says it right into the inside of his thigh.

Like he wasn’t smiling wide enough already. “Lemme – suck it, Cas,” he growls, sliding his hips forward. Dean feels the little intake of breath, the rub of his lower lip, the slick of his tongue and the heat of his inner cheeks, around him. It’s slow, until Cas’ nose bumps bluntly against his stomach and then in one swooping rush, Dean realizes the angel’s really sucking him off. And he’s kind of fucking awesome at it.

There’ve been a bunch of chicks who were really awesome at this – Lisa could do it while splaying the V of her legs over his face, and there were a whole lot of mutual wet groans – but Cas doesn’t have to breathe, and doesn’t have a gag reflex either, so he wins. And pretty easily. Dean’s fingers slide into Castiel’s hair, and the table makes some dangerous rattling noises as they move apart and come together, over and over. (Dean figures there are no better uses for angel powers than keeping this table together, though. It’d be really embarrassing to be this good at giving head and then fuck it up by having the table you’re giving it on collapse.) Normally, Dean’s awfully fucking loud, but he can only just whimper with an angel half-kneeling before him.

So it’s good enough with Cas letting him fuck his face – good, ha, yeah, understatement – but then he starts twisting his tongue, up and down and a little hesitant. Only the hesitancy makes his tongue _drag_ , pulling up sparks that resonate hard in his gut, and _fuck_ the handprint on his shoulder’s burning –

Dean comes. Actually, it’s more like the orgasm gets ripped out of him, hard and fast. He thought he had more time, otherwise maybe he would’ve tugged harder at Cas’ hair to warn him, but the combination of Cas’ A-plus mouth and the heat on his skin combined to get him all but blacking out. The only reason he doesn’t fall off the table with a big thud must be those angel powers, again. Awesome.

For his part, Cas stays quiet while Dean howls his orgasm and clutches at the unyielding wood of the table like a moron. Quietly, slowly, his world grows focused down to a couple of uh, general areas. His orgasm’s still beating out like a heartbeat in the base of his spine, his neck aches, and Cas has kept his mouth tight around his cock. Dean’s sensitive right there, and his hips jump up half-achy, and half because he doesn’t give a shit about how achy he is and he just needs more.

Cas’ mouth doesn’t so much move off him as slide up the underside of his dick, which still makes Dean shiver and move his hands back to his hair, until he can’t hold on any more because that mouth inches its way, torturous, in between his thighs. The angel’s hands grip his ankles so hard the hold of them may as well be metal, and Dean’s never been all that kinky, just kinda sex-crazy, but he thinks he might be into anything Cas wants to slap on him. Literally, _ha_.

Still, Cas keeps going, hands holding Dean firmly while his mouth slips further and further between his legs. He’s gonna have to do this some time when Dean’s heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to punch right through his chest and there aren’t tears poking at his eyes (hey, it’s okay when you just had an awesome orgasm… from another guy. Okay, maybe if anyone wanted to call him a girl right now, they’d be right, but he’d punch them in the jaw before they got that out). “Uh, Cas,” Dean gets out, and his voice sounds like he’s been running for a while. “What – are you –”

Cas peeks up, and Dean sees only that bright flash of blue, fringed by his dark lashes. (Seriously, he’s never gonna even _glance_ at Chuck’s books again.) “Hecate was rather – insistent on this part.” The hot little puffs of his breath only serve to tickle the inside of Dean’s thighs, and seriously, angel mojo fucking rocks because Dean hasn’t – fallen off the table into a heap yet. Absently, Dean wonders if Cas has a halo, obscured like his wings but currently squeezed between Dean’s legs. “I apologize in advance if this causes you discomfort.”

Dean starts to laugh at that, because his brain still can’t fucking add two and two from his orgasm. “I seriously doubt –” But then Cas’ tongue _flicks_ again and the rest of Dean’s sentence crumples away, into a gasp. “ _Whaddafuck_ ,” he does get out eventually. Any panicky thoughts he might’ve had about Cas just being curious get shoved aside by a long-ass roll of his tongue. It’s fucking _luxurious_. Dean absolutely did not just think that.

“She was very specific here,” Cas grumbles, and his lips _don’t stop brushing against the rim of Dean’s asshole_ when he says it. As if encouraged, he moves up and rubs them there, inquisitive.

“Uh, I just,” Dean stammers intelligently. He was fine, he realizes now, with the idea of getting screwed into the table, which is terrifying on its own, but there’s something about an angel tonguing him _there_ that’s worse.

Thankfully for now, Cas moves away to kiss at the skin inside his thigh. “I believe this is considered – somewhat taboo by your culture.” A sigh, like humans are so very exhausting. Dean figures that Cas’ main experience with humanity was him, so – that’s probably not wrong. “If it brings you comfort, I think of it as no different than anything else we have done so far.”

Man, Dean never thought he’d be so happy that Cas is such a total weirdo. And he _really_ never thought it’d be because it meant he’d stop feeling guilty and fucking filthy over Cas eating him out.

And seriously, Dean’s sitting on this – admittedly pretty sturdy – computer table, with his legs thrown over another dude’s shoulders. Oh yeah, the dude’s an angel, who’s currently got his tongue where tongues normally just don’t go, and his pants hitched down far enough so that Dean can see just the curve of his ass, and the smooth skin makes a twitch of interest go through his body even if yeah, he’s not getting hard again any time soon. And they’re doing this so another lock on frigging _Lucifer’s_ cage doesn’t pop off. What the fuck is his life?

Cas’ licks just get longer and wetter and hotter, and Dean has to hold his lip pretty firmly between his teeth so he doesn’t fucking _laugh_ , bizarrely enough. He’s got that same hesitancy tinting his confidence, and Dean fucking loves it. He’d be freaked out – well, more freaked out – if Cas was just as no-nonsense about this as he was everything else. Instead, there’s a different pace every time he laps over Dean’s hole, like he’s testing it all out, little kisses onto his thigh. Gratefully, Dean thumps his heel on Cas’ back.

Which, of course, is when Cas’ tongue screws _inside_ , and no amount of biting his lip can hold back the howl. It’s like, he’d mentally prepped himself to get fucked, but not for this. Maybe that doesn’t make sense, but a dick’s a dick. This thing’s smaller and _wet_ and _flexible_ and moves so fucking easily, tonguing him open slowly, wider with every hard push. There’s effort behind it. And, okay, there’s sort of a dragged-out pattern there, funny and stuttered, and _fuck_ Dean is very suddenly into it, hitching his hips forward until they ache.

Hey. Worrying about liking this is a lot more enjoyable than worrying about how he’s going to protect Sammy or avoid the Pit or stop the fucking devil and that bitch Lilith. He moves back against Cas’ mouth, probably puffy by now, all slick.

“Stop squirming,” Cas murmurs, but there’s no malice behind it. It’s not really an order, either. The angel’s fingers find the underside of his knee and press there, lightly, as if they don’t understand the skin there. He pulls back, and fuck, _yeah_ , his lips definitely look kinda shiny over that funny half-smile. “I know you enjoyed that, Dean.” Cas isn’t wrong.

Dean’s chest kinda clenches – God, he’s such a girl – with the need to kiss him, but he knows exactly where those lips have been. He thumbs smoothly across his mouth instead, a shiver jumping out of Dean’s body when Cas flicks his pretty fuckin’ great tongue against the fingertip. Quick learner. Well, he’s got an awesome teacher for this kinda thing.

He’s on his back, then, easy and lowered down by just the suggestion of Cas’ hand skirting against his stomach. It should hurt, he’s still not recovered fully from his stay in the hospital, but it just feels like relief. Dean would be appalled by the easy way his legs opened up so Castiel could slide in between them, slim hips solid where they come into contact with his knees, if he was thinking of anything right now other than the nudge of Cas’ erection against his knee, thigh, against the crease of his ass.

Dean sucks in a breath and kinda pathetically – not that he’ll use that word to describe it or anything – waves a hand around in the air because Cas, not surprisingly, doesn’t mess around. His ass is pretty ready from before, and he’s sure there’s angel mojo sending happy little Yes Having A Dick Up Your Ass With Minimal Prep In Fact Rules (and let’s see Chuck include _that_ phrase in his books, _ha_ ) signals through his nervous system, but give a guy a second to adjust.

That’s when Cas’ hand finds his, still hanging there in the air, and holds it. Dean winces, both because the spit around his asshole and the angel’s power can do only so much, and because he’s kind of expecting his hand to get crushed. Cas might understand sex just from watching, but handholding? That’d be nuts.

They stay just palm to palm, though, fingers pretty loose around each other. Dean could get on his case about limp handshakes, but it’s probably a bad idea to mess with the guy who’s fucking you. Especially when he starts to get into it. It’s so slow at first, aching, but only for the first few thrusts, when Cas starts going fucking _fiercely_. Dean can picture it, easily, like taking Cas out for one of those ridiculous burgers from that diner while they were sorting out all that shit with Chuck. A real burger, not the goddamn tofu shit, thank you. Cas would take one prim little bite before he went nuts devouring the whole thing, and maybe he’d end up with grease making his mouth as shiny as it is now –

Somehow, it turns out, thinking of burgers during awesome sex only makes it more awesome. Cas eventually tugs their hands up, and Dean’s all but sitting on the table. Too eager, he slips his hand away from Cas’ and around the vessel’s shoulders. The noises Cas’ hips make are dry in places, skin sliding against skin, and wet in others. Dean’s body pushes back against Cas’ in time with the thrusts, and it’s all instinct, like he can’t stand being apart from him.

He’s hard again, his cock pressing between their stomachs. It smears, sticky, and there’s so much heat blooming up between their thighs it could be the energy of Cas’ true form. Dean cups the back of the angel’s neck and just – looks at him, the blue gaze no different from after he’d said _good luck_ outside that motel; he can’t imagine the expression on his own face.

This could be mega trouble, feels like. Dean doesn’t care.

Cas punches right up against his prostate with one long, hard thrust, and _fuck_ he was right on the knife’s edge, and another orgasm spills out of him. He can’t even imagine how ridiculous he must look, sweaty with a contorted face, bruises marking him and come splashed strange places, to Cas’ angel gaze. But there’s still the little whisper of a smile across his face, and his hips still thrust.

Then, his mouth curls into an O, and that twinkle of silver in his eyes starts expanding too rapidly, and it’s all Dean can do to throw his forearm over his eyes before an incredible _pulse_ tears through him, not warm or cold or anything other than just _good_ , Dean knows –

He’s not sure when he passed out, or how he put his boxers back on, or how he managed to fall asleep on the computer table, or how he remembers his own name. He doesn’t know what time it is, only that it was light out before, and it’s still light out. “Um,” Dean gets out, to the empty air. When he whirls his head around, Cas is sitting in a corner of the little hotel room, fully dressed, hands in his lap. Something in his eyes looks somehow faraway, though.

Dean wants to brush off his body in places, but fucking _ouch_ , there’s a crick everywhere. His arms make a pretty gruesome popping noise when he goes to stretch. (Briefly, he’s glad he wasn’t the one fucking Cas, because what the fuck would've happened to his dick, and oh God that’s just a terrible thought all around.) “Cas?” He doesn’t respond. “Uh. Cas?”

There are another few beats of silence, and then Cas’ eyes are on him again. Intently. Dean isn’t fucking blushing, fuck you. “I was – communicating with several of my brothers, and it appears we have closed enough seals that we can reinforce the others.” A pause. Cas was real good at dramatic effect, even from the beginning when Dean knows he hadn’t seen a minute of pop culture. “Lucifer won’t rise at this time.”

Dean’s brain is still rattling around kind of pleasantly, but he understands the last bit. “We saved the world through our freaky internet-inspired sex?”

“Among other things. I was told Hecate was quite angry when she discovered our coupling.”

He messed up a half-demon, half-witch bitch’s day, had really fantastic sex with an angel, and, oh yeah, saved the world. Dean is _awesome_.

Still, something in Castiel is very hesitant, like he’s holding back unpleasant news. “What is it?” Dean asks, sitting up – ow – and sliding over to the edge of the computer desk best he can.

“Zachariah commanded some angels to remain on earth for a few hundred years to make sure this doesn’t happen again. I was – one of them.”

Realization takes a while to hit him, but then Dean’s face instinctively opens up in shock. “Oh, shit, Cas, I’m sorry –” _Sorry_ seems kind of pathetic, considering he’d just cut the guy off from his – well, Dean thought the angels’ side of Heaven sounded real fucking lamesauce, but it was Cas’ life and if any of those guys deserved any happiness, it was Castiel.

“It isn’t your fault,” Cas barges in. “And I didn’t Fall. I maintain my connection to the Host, powers, and memories. I am merely tethered to this planet, temporarily. The worst part of all this is –” And he purses his lips, hard.

“What?”

The pupils of Cas’ eyes have the tendency to do funny things that Dean suspects a true human’s couldn’t. At his question, they practically swing away from Dean’s gaze. “Zachariah made several inappropriate comments when he informed me of the business with the seals,” he grunts. He makes an attempt to toe at the carpet, but all that happens is his foot stabs at it.

Dean isn’t sure whether to laugh or throw up, because that’s hilarious, but it’s also _Zachariah_. The guy’s sense of humor involved strapping him into suspenders with stupid-ass patterns on them, dumping a whole year’s worth of tacky gel on his head, and making him eat nothing but salads for like a month. There was some message he’d been supposed to get out of it, but fuck if Dean remembers what it was at this very moment. Dean ends up settling for, “Well, he’s a dick.”

“I would agree with you,” Cas admits, eventually. He flicks a small smile toward Dean, unsure. Yeah, Cas is an angel of the Lord who fucked him halfway to oblivion not that long ago, but this can’t be easy for him.

Cas has been a lot for Dean, even though he hasn’t even known him a year. (And yet, in a way, he’d probably known him for a decade or so, pulling him out of Hell. He can’t remember it, but it happened. Maybe he’ll get to ask him now.) Dean can at least be a friend for him. And hey, there are other benefits.

He pats the space next to him on the table, not subtle. “Sam tells me this thing gets viruses all the time,” Dean groans, flicking his pointer finger at the computer screen. “Maybe this could help me out with that, huh?”

He slaps on his best shit-eating grin, but Cas is still intoning, “No, Dean, I don’t think sexual intercourse can cure a computer virus,” which is when Dean tells him to shut up. Or rather, shows him how to, shows that delicious stereo speaker buzz of his skin and the light behind his uninhibited stare and the funny tilt of his head. He shows him until Dean’s breathing in his skin, the strange winter chill of it, and if Cas is stuck with humanity Dean is determined to show him that at least some _individuals_ aren’t too bad, after all.

As it turns out, Dean would’ve been better off spitting out some drink when Cas told him they had to have sex, because it’s actually just about impossible to get spooge out of a keyboard. Sam’s in the middle of girlishly flailing about how he will never, ever forgive Dean for this, when Cas touches two fingers to the computer. It’s all clean, then, even the crumbs between the letters of the keyboard gone, and Sam apologizing to Castiel while still annoyed at him because Sam knows how his computer got all messed up in the first place. Oh yeah. Dean’s angel boyfriend fucking rules. He’s totally gonna take him out for that burger once they get all this shit sorted out.

So what, he called him his boyfriend at the end of a day full of chick-flick thoughts. It’s ridiculous on a couple of levels, but Cas singed his wings in Hell for him. Dean can friggin’ hold his hand every now and then (and he’s gonna teach him about a proper grip) in return. And all because of some stupid witch-demon trying to fuck with the internet, _ha_. Thank you, Al Gore.

(A few states over, Chuck wakes up and bleats out, “Oh, _come on_!” because sex is one thing – and he’s pretty sure he’s seen Dean’s dick more often than his own lately, cuz the guy jacks it _seriously every day_ , and honestly that’s preferable to some of the stuff he’s seen Ruby do to Sam – and gay sex is another, but gay sex that kicks Armageddon’s ass with the entire Host of Heaven commenting on it is a whole ‘nother thing.

Oh, well. _Heavenly angelic passion_ sounds even better than _fiery demonic passion_ , honestly – the ironic contrast and all that. His publisher’s gonna eat it up. Awesome.)


End file.
